


love is like an energy (rushing inside of me)

by annabeth_writes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everything is consensual, F/M, Mild Language, Past Abuse, Sexual Content, book canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_writes/pseuds/annabeth_writes
Summary: It isn't Littlefinger that whisks Sansa away in the wake of Joffrey's death, but rather a family interested only in seeing her alive and well. Years later, a legitimized Jon chases whispers and rumors to her sanctuary.prompt: canonverse but jon and sansa reunite in a different way





	love is like an energy (rushing inside of me)

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of Littlefinger, it’s the company from Dorne and specifically Oberyn that gets Sansa out of King’s Landing when Joffrey dies. The first part is lengthy but I promise all the backstory is worth the rest.
> 
> Nothing past the Purple Wedding is canon as far as Sansa is concerned. This is going to be more in line with the books than anything else. As much as I love Kit and Sophie, they aren’t quite what I envision for the book characters so keep that in mind.
> 
> Title: The Power of Love by Gabrielle Aplin

Jon could hardly believe the sweltering heat of Dorne. He thought he endured the worst of it in King’s Landing but it was nothing compared to the southernmost kingdom. The Martells clothed him in rich, peculiar fabrics and sweeping cloaks to prevent the sun from scorching his skin as he crossed the desert with an impressive escort. They refused to allow him any less, since he was as good as kin to the Dornishmen. Daenerys took Quentyn Martell as her king, restoring the Targaryen-Martell alliance. But it was not his aunt that brought him to Dorne, but rather the whispers that reached even King’s Landing. Rumors that a young woman with flame-red hair and sun-kissed skin lived amidst sun and sand. Sansa had disappeared after Joffrey’s death, leaving countless stories and suspicions in her wake.

He couldn’t resist chasing after the likeliest speculation, traveling south with nothing but the clothes on his back and Longclaw at his belt. Ghost was loathe to be left behind but Jon knew it was wise the moment he stepped from boat to land. His closest companion would have been absolutely miserable in the heat, moreso than Jon and that was saying quite a lot. He barely managed to reacquaint himself with Princess Arianne before she insisted that he see the Water Gardens without answering a single one of his questions. Hours of crossing the Dornish desert did nothing to improve his mood after weeks on a ship. Jon wanted three simple things: a bath, a bed, and a solid answer on his cousin’s whereabouts. It was odd thinking of her that way, even now.

Though Sansa was not close to him as a sister as they grew up, changing his mindset in the wake of learning his true parentage was not easy. Two wars, one for the realm and one for all of humanity, had given him time to accept the truth. So much so that Jon, albeit reluctantly, allowed Daenerys to legitimize him as her heir. Now that he was on the brink of seeing another Stark for the first time in years, he felt uncertain all over again. As the simple yet beautiful palace came into view, taking shape as they drew closer, Jon prayed that Sansa would be there. That years of her life were spent exactly where she should have been, instead of dead or suffering beneath the cruelty of the Lannisters. It was exactly the sort of place she’d dreamt of as a girl, Jon knew that much.

“My father retired here years ago,” Arianne said, pulling her steed next to his. “Children from all over Dorne, noble and common, are fostered here. He delights in their laughter. It is a good place for him.”

Jon managed a half-smile, a memory he thought lost coming to the forefront of his mind. Laughter ringing through the courtyard of Winterfell, Lord Stark staring down at his children proudly, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiled. The Wall and beyond was cold enough to steal even the warmest of memories, especially during the Long Night.

He found himself tangled in his thoughts until they rode through the gates that were flanked by the same orange-cloaked guards he was familiar with by now. As he dismounted his horse and released his hair from the hood that covered it, Jon wished for a cool skin of water only for a maidservant to move towards them with several cups balanced upon a tray.

“Lemon water,” Arianne said, handing him a cup before taking one of her own.

Jon drank of it greedily, the taste of it like nectar to his dry mouth and aching throat. As he handed the empty cup over with a slightly abashed look on his face, Arianne simply gave him an understanding smile, tilting her head towards the palace. Jon could hear the distant sound of splashing and laughter, wondering if this was truly some sort of paradise.

“My uncle was a hard man,” Arianne said, gathering her skirts in her hands as she ascended the small set of steps to the doors. “Fierce and unpredictable, my father always said. But beneath it all, his heart was good. He had a keen sense of justice, as well as duty. I think that he anticipated nothing more than vengeance for his sister’s death when he traveled to the capital for that wedding.”

She paused just before the doors and Jon followed suit, listening silently. Her dark eyes seemed to see straight through his own, deep into him where his very soul resided. There was a weight to her gaze, as if she was taking his full measure before speaking another word. Whatever she saw must have told her what she needed for she opened her mouth to speak again.

“Uncle Oberyn certainly never expected to find a young woman in the clutches of the Lannisters, on the brink of meeting a fate much like our own Princess Elia.”

Jon swallowed hard, glancing away from her as his sword hand clenched into a fist. No one would admit to what transpired when Sansa was a hostage of the Lannisters. The courtiers that remained from that time, the ones that were wise enough to pledge loyalty to Daenerys early on, all seemed to forget they ever knew of a Sansa Stark if he ever spoke her name.

“One of his last acts in this world was stealing her away from their clutches,” Arianne said, giving Jon a knowing look as his eyes darted back to her, growing wide at the implication of her words.

“Her arrival barely predicated word of his death. The Dornishmen that escorted her assured us of Oberyn’s intentions but it was a letter of his own writing, a letter that your cousin handed directly into the hands of my father, that told us everything we needed to know. In our mourning, we could do nothing less than honor his last wishes. We decided to shelter the last of the Starks here, where no one in the world could find her.”

Jon inhaled deeply, reaching out to brace his hand on a pillar as relief overwhelmed him. It was true. He hadn’t come for nothing, on a whisper of false hope. Dropping his head, he clenched his jaw and breathed in and out slowly, needing a moment to gather himself.

“Thank you,” he finally managed to choke out, looking up at the princess before him.

Arianne gave him the gentlest of smiles, reaching out to grasp his arm.

“Would you like to see her?”

*****

There was hardly a corridor or a room within the palace that did not open into the warm air. Jon relented to Arianne’s insistence that he wash up, changing his clothes into another borrowed set of breeches and a well worn tunic. He didn’t mind the simplicity of the clothing, no matter how many apologies he received for it. All that he wanted to do was see Sansa. His heart ached and raced as he followed Arianne through the palace, anticipation rising within him.

As they stepped out onto a terrace, the noises he heard distantly before reached his ears in full. Arianne stepped aside as he moved towards the railing, peeking out only to see dozens of children swimming, wrestling, and plashing within a deep pool of water. Some were as young as Rickon the last time that Jon saw him and some on the brink of adulthood. Their carefree laughter and easy smiles bound them all together. It was quite the sight to his eyes.

“Prince Jon,” Arianne called out to him.

He turned, half-hoping to see Sansa standing next to her. Instead, his eyes dropped to a grey-haired man seated in a wheeled chair, a blanket draped over his lap covering him from waist to toe. Jon knew his identity without question, lowering into a bow as he cursed himself for not noticing him before.

“This is my father, Prince Doran Nymeros Martell,” Arianne introduced, laying a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Father, this is Prince Jon Targaryen.”

The man gave him a smile, nodding his way.

“I’ve heard much about you,” he said, his voice soft yet with an unmistakable core of steel beneath it.

Just behind him, a bearded man with a longaxe stood guard over the prince.

“The maester at Winterfell told us many stories of you, Prince Doran,” Jon said, recalling Maester Luwin fondly. “That you and your brother were both great fighters.”

“In our time, yes,” Doran said, a far off sadness in his eyes that Jon regretted bringing about by mentioning Oberyn Martell. “I much prefer tranquility and laughter these days. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jon glanced over his shoulder, unable to keep from nodding his head in agreement.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,”  he admitted.

As he watched a child no more than four take a daring leap into the water, he heard Arianne speak softly in a language that he barely recognized. It sounded close to Valyrian but something about it seemed different. Her voice took on a more Rhoynish lilt as she spoke for her father’s ears only, receiving an answer in the same language.

“Forgive us,” Prince Doran said as he turned back to glance at them curiously. “Do you know Valyrian, Prince Jon?”

Resisting the urge to request that they drop the title when addressing him, Jon shook his head.

“Very little,” he said. “What remains of the Old Tongue is taught in the North.”

“Ah yes. We’ve heard a bit of it ourselves,” Doran said with a nod.

 _From Sansa_ , Jon realized, remembering once more why he was there. Looking around once more, he searched for her bright hair amidst the others. Though she would not longer be a child, but rather a girl of nine and ten, Jon looked for her in vein.

“Come,” Arianne said, regaining his attention. “You must see the beach.”

Jon knew better than to refuse, though he felt close to frustration at this point. A silent trek through gardens and across sand edged him closer to an outlash of annoyance but then the wind carried the sound of much different, far more familiar laughter to his ears over the sounds of waves crashing up on a shore and his head snapped up as he stared around desperately.

There, he saw a loose banner of flame-bright hair. The wind whipped it about her head as her hands lifted to sweep it away from her eyes. She was not alone, but surrounded by several more children of varying ages as they dodged and chased the tide. Her dress was made of fine, gauzy material, much like Arianne’s. Fit well to her body yet soaked at the hem as she lifted it to show her bare, sand-covered feet.

Another peal of laughter filled the air as she skipped away from the water as gracefully as she used to twirl about the Great Hall of Winterfell. The children all laughed with her, equally delighted by their little game. Jon felt as if he may well burst with the satisfaction and joy that rose within him, knowing that she was alive and well.

“It took many months for her to gift us with her laughter,” Arianne said quietly, for his ears alone. “Yet we never saw a smile so bright as when we told her that you lived.”

Jon knew the feeling well.

“Does she know? Who I am?” he asked, his voice strangely rough.

“We told her when the queen legitimized you. She seemed thrilled on your behalf, that you finally knew the truth of your birth.”

As he took a step forward, feeling drawn to her more and more with each second that passed, Arianne shouted out a command in Valyrian and each of the heads turned their way as Jon’s breath caught in his throat. Sansa was the last of them, brushing a lock of hair away from her smiling lips as she watched the little ones scramble their way through the sand towards their princess.

Then her eyes lifted, fixing on Jon without so much as glancing Arianne’s way. Her smile faded, her lips parting in shock as her eyes grew wide. Slowly, very slowly, she took careful steps across the sand as Arianne herded the children away. Jon held himself perfectly still, almost afraid that if he moved or blinked, she would disappear before his eyes.

Finally she reached him, her hands twisting into her skirts as she took him in completely. The tears that filled her blue eyes only made them more striking and Jon felt the urge to take her in his arms and never let go as a single drop slid down her freckled cheek. Yet he remained still, not wanting to startle her. When her hands lifted, very hesitantly cupping his face as if she expected him to yank himself away from her, Jon felt as if he might cry as well.

“Oh Jon,” Sansa murmured, her voice catching on his name as she shook her head.

Then a brilliant smile broke out on her face and Jon didn’t hesitate for a moment longer. She fit into his arms perfectly, burying her face in his shoulder as he wrapped his arms firmly around her waist. She smelled of a peculiar mix of spices, oranges, and ocean. Jon pressed his face into her hair and inhaled greedily, feeling a sense of home that he had been missing for so long as he embraced her. After several long moments, nearly a minute in truth, Sansa pulled away from him with a small gasp and looked into his eyes with shock in her own.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her hand going to his cheek once more.

“I-” Jon tried to find a way to describe everything that brought him here but his words failed him. “For you. I came here for you.”

Sansa’s face softened as her lower lip trembled. Jon feared that she would begin crying in earnest but had little time to worry before she pushed up on her bare toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“I knew it would be sweet,” she said, falling back on her heels. “Seeing you again.”

Jon felt warmth filling him from the inside out and knew now that he overestimated the effect of Dorne. For the heat could not chase away the chill that lived within him. A feeling that took root as he knelt in the snow, betrayed by his brothers and left to die in the shadow of a wall that he fought with everything he had to defend.

Perhaps the North itself left its mark or the brutal reality of his death changed him deep within. Whatever it was, the cold hadn’t left him, even when breath filled his lungs once more and brought him out of the immense darkness of death. He felt wrong. A shadow of his former self, even as he fought in wars and found out the truth of himself. A dead man with a heart of ice that nothing could melt.

Nothing but the sight of Sansa, alive and well, and the feeling of her in his arms, solid, warm, and very real.

“You must be weary,” she said, taking his silence for tiredness. “I nearly fainted straightaway when I first came here. The heat is oppressive, is it not?”

Jon nodded, taking her in as she spoke.

Sansa pulled out of his arms only to take his hand.

“You can rest in my chambers.”

The touch of her hand against his own and the ripple of her hair as she guided him towards the palace distracted him quite thoroughly from her words, or else Jon might have protested. An odd thought struck him, taking him completely by surprise, that Sansa very well could lead him directly into the seven hells and he’d gladly go so long as she held his hand much like this.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you think!


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